


I don't know

by Nik_Fic



Series: Sprint fics [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Gen, Identity Porn, Just a drabble, Natasha Romanoff - Freeform, Please be nice, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, both only by mention though, brock rumlow - Freeform, bucky barnes likes plums, i guess?, my first writing since autumn 2015, plums !!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nik_Fic/pseuds/Nik_Fic
Summary: James "Bucky" Barnes / The Asset POV of the time between the day of the helicarrier events in CA:TWS and the day of Steve and Bucky's Bucharest adventures™.Written for a 60 minute sprint.





	I don't know

He remembers everything since he was wiped the last time. The bank vault with the chair. The short, clipped instructions from the elite team clad in black’s leader. The Strike team. _Rumlow_ , his brain supplied. The Strike leader’s name was Rumlow. Something he had found out through the last 24 months on the run; on the quest to learn what had been kept from him for so many decades.

A helpful ally might be the Black Widow, civilian name Natasha Romanoff. He knows he has spent extended periods of time with her, back when her name had signaled a closer relationship with the Red Room than the current masculine surname did. She had released numerous files from archives dating back to before he was born. Because of the files, he knew when he had been born, and what events had led to his current state of mind, of body.

Because of the files, he found out about James Buchanan Barnes, and his partner in crime (or justice, he figured) Steven Grant Rogers. The name was accompanied by a picture which he recognised from just about two years ago.

He _knew_ him but he remembered nothing of the tall, muscular blonde man who had stood in front of him all those months ago. Whom he had pinned down, the Mission who had to be finished before failure was unavoidable.

The Mission was finished, the Asset had calculated, but a manual override must have been issued from a short ranged transmitter to the implanted chip in his cerebral cortex, because all of a sudden the Asset dove into the Potomac and swam to surface with the Mission dragged along. The Asset waited to check if the Mission was alive, as to comply with the override command, and with the first visible heaving of the broad, bloodied chest, the Asset’s instinctual self preservation had overridden the two previous edicts and he had fled the scene.

Dry clothes and rations for sustenance had been easy to find, due to the chaos of the area surrounding the still-crashing and still-exploding helicarriers. Over the Asset’s head, the sky had slowly filled with helicopters, both newscasting and rescuing teams piloting the vehicles, imbuing the smoky air with overlapping noise from a multitude of rotors.

Evading the local police force and special units, the Asset had gone to the Hydra safehouses that he had coordinates for. A small data block, a black box of sorts, is embedded in his arm behind a locked panel. The data block has a local neural transmitter to the chip just under his skull, which was a way of storing information for the Asset to access with no need for important strings of code or coordinated to be repeated after every wipe. This technical device wasn’t only beneficial to Hydra, though. He had made good use of the stored locations, having wiped out base after base, looking for files only written on paper and for higher-ups who needed some special treatment for all the ‘special treatment’ he had received since 1945.

 ---

His current hideout is in Bucharest. A nice city, everyone is occupied enough with the Sokovian refugee crisis that no one thinks of looking for a person on the run from America and its allies.

All is nice and peaceful, until one day in late April. It was a warm day considering the early spring had been with low temperatures so far, and to celebrate the weather and the fact that he could indulge in small personal celebrations without being too paranoid of Hydra locking him down in the Chair again, he had gone to the local street vendor Ioana, a nice old lady, to buy some plums.

Not even ten minutes later and he was standing opposite his former Mission, local police rushing towards their location.

 

“You pulled me from the river. Why?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Yes you do.”

 

And honestly, he knew why. The override. But he _knew_ the Mission. He didn’t remember the Mission. And he didn’t think he ever would. So he threw himself into battle, locked fleeting thoughts out of the active part of his brain, and fought his way to escape, just like he had done 24 months ago.


End file.
